Book
Hey there. Im thinking of writing a book based in dark age britain as it is a poular topic but no one really writes anything on the era. Heres a snippet from what ive done so far. There will be mistakes both grammatically and spelling as it is still in a complete draft. Please post some replies. Any post is better than none.
“Sir! Sir! You must wake. Morgan has returned”.
Madoc startled to life once again at the unwelcome guest that now stood at the doorway. His eyes focused from their sleep to see a young boy, maybe no more than 11 years old stood just inside his room. He could see the discomfort that he wore underneath his natural curiosity and eagerness. Over the past few years Madoc’s name and his status among the people of Pengwern had began to spread. For three years he had patrolled and defended the Northern reaches of this fledgling kingdom against the incessant raiding of the Saxon kingdoms. At 25 years old Madoc had been fighting one enemy or another for almost a decade. He had entered service at the age of 16 as he had little else to offer. His father had been forced from his homeland…………………………………… while he was still nothing more than a baby. Pengwern was all he knew yet somehow he didn’t feel completely at home here. Standing just under 6 ft tall Madoc was taller than most yet his size was not the first thing that struck you. Although he looked like any other Briton while dark straight hair his eyes were of an unusually bright blue and drew in almost anyone that engaged him in conversation. Seeing that the young lad was still in the doorway and was intently staring at his features Madoc brushed him away before any questions could erupt from his youthful curiosity.
“Thank you boy, tell him I will be with him shortly”.
The youngster turned and ran to undertake his newest task with all the enthusiasm of a child and disappeared from Madocs thoughts as quickly as he had arrived.
Stiff and still weary of mind Madoc swung himself from his bed a crossed his room to where he had left his equipment.
Shafts of light lit the room with a soft glow warm glow making Madoc smile at the comfort he had began to enjoy and now knew he would have to leave behind. His gaze disappeared out of one of the windows and stared out towards the heavily wooded hills and valleys the rolled far into the distance of this settlement. It had been 2 weeks waiting at this place for news from Morgan who had been travelling length and breadth of those hills. Madoc knew his sudden arrival meant that the Saxons were now on the move again and his services would be required once more.
Madoc threw his mail shirt over his head and tied the straps and pulled up his leather greaves that both had began to show the wear of years spent patrolling the borders of his adoptive homeland. He then tied his black leather jerkin around his body before finally pulling on his fur boots with all the haste he could muster in his current state of drowsiness. He grabbed his sword belt that was hanging off the corner of his bed and strode out the door to meet his friend and hear the news he had been eagerly awaiting.
As he swung the door open the sudden burst of light stung his eyes and halted him in the doorway momentarily in order to adjust his eyesight. Once his focus had resumed it became evident that Morgan’s arrival in the town was obviously not only news meant for him. His men that were stationed around the town busily began to accumulate at the town center clad in their armour and all brandishing their weapons that were razor sharp from frustrated days of practice and preparation. Madoc smiled at the efforts of the men to look inconspicuous in their efforts as they began to realise that he had emerged from his room. He decided not to address the men and stir up the hopes of battle until he had confirmed the news he hoped Morgan had brought with him from the wilderness.
Madoc arrived at the stable to find Morgan tending to the needs of his beloved horse. He found him stood at next to the beast brushing flecks of mud form the horses side as it fed deeply from a trough of feed that had been laid for it by its master.
“Just as I thought, the wellbeing of the damn horse falls higher in your priorities than reporting you mission to your commanding officer. What good does it do me knowing your horse is well looked after?” Madoc snapped as he stood in the doorway and broke the light that was streaming into the straw covered stable barn causing a dark shadow to fall over Morgan and his horse.
At this Morgan immediately stopped what his was doing and looked at the man in the doorway. As their eyes met both men Morgan called back, “good to see you are well too my old friend”. At this both men began to laugh and embraced in the middle of the barn. As suddenly as the laughter had arrived it vanished. A cold expression of grim determination appeared on Madocs face.
“What news do you bring from the hills? Are they using the Redstone Bridge to cross the Trent?”
“They are indeed Madoc. I tracked them for 2 days in the lands north of the Trent. I left once they had passed the crossroads at………………… I counted 140 men plus a few carts being pulled by oxen. There is no other way for them to cross the Trent other than the Redstone Bridge. The militia stationed there will be overrun immediately as the men are well armed and wearing mail. I think they intend to strike one of the larger settlements this time.”
Madoc looked searchingly at Morgan for a moment then replied, “How long do you think it will take them to cross the Trent into our territory?”
“Maybe two days as the oxen will slow them considerably but we wont reach the river crossing till late the second even if we leave now.”
“No, no we won’t but we will make them pay. Raise them men Morgan, we will meet them at the sunken pass on the red road. They will not know we are there until it is too late. Now go, we have much to do”
Morgan gave a knowing smile as he passed Madoc on his way out of the barn. He had entered military life shortly after Madoc and had been helped greatly in the early days by Madoc’s grim determination and desire to help and lead those around him. Even at the tender age of 15 it was evident that Madoc would grow to lead and Morgan wanted to be the first to follow. This unwavering support throughout his military life alongside the unequalled skills of hunting and tracking had allowed Morgan to become the second in command of the company which was exactly where he wanted to be.
There was a sense of calm that remained in the barn once Morgan had left. Madoc knew the roads to the north well. The Saxons were planning on raiding this village. It was the first place of any sizable wealth that they would encounter on their passage south from the Redstone Bridge.
“Perfect”. The words escaped from Madocs mouth to no one in particular. He had spent months trying to find a way to trap the Saxon raiders that had been terrorising the Northern expanses and now they had presented themselves to him without even knowing it. All he had to do was reach ‘sunken pass’ before the Saxons and they would be eliminated and the Northern territories could prosper without fear again.
There were only a few hours of daylight left by the time the company had been properly assembled and they were ready to embark. Madoc found them inline patiently waiting for their leader to arrive and unleash them on their foes. He looked proudly at the neatly dressed lines of men that stood before him. These men, his company of ‘Wolves’ had been created from nothing more than a group of skilled scouts to become the pride of the Northern expanses of Pengwern. They were thought of alongside the Kings personal bodyguard for their quality and ability on the battlefield. If their abilities were matched their tactics of war were entirely different. These men were not designed or trained to stand behind defensive spears or indulge in the Saxon ways of war. They were taught to track their prey, strike hard and then disappear.
They had been told to leave anything that would slow their progress through the woods and the tight hunting tracks in the hills around the village so they carried little food and water, only what would be required for a few days away from civilisation. Each man wore black leather armour; those who could afford it wore mail underneath. Every man in the company carried a bow as tall as a man, a heavy axe and a round wooden shield stained red with a black wolfs head painted on. There were few men that carried a sword and these tended to be men of rank within the company. Both Madoc and Morgan carried a blade yet these were worn as secondary weapon and a badge of honour. An axe served men well when they were out in the wilds for months at a time. A sword could not be used as an effective tool yet an axe was more than suitable for cleaving open a mans skull in the heat of battle. Madocs ranks had risen to 97 men and his fame was become widespread throughout Pengwern in the past few years and every man wanted to make a name for himself had come to seek him out yet few were taken on. This was an elite unit and exceptions could be made for no man that lacked in skill at arms regardless of their bravery and determination. The men of the ‘Wolves’ were masters of the bow, matched for skill by only the men of Gwent. Their savagery with the axe would not be misplaced among the Norsemen whose legendary brutality crept into the dreams of the young boys of Britain. These men were to be the terror or the Saxons and the saviours of Pengwern.
Madoc strode to the old wooden gate into the village. As he approached it was quickly opened for him by two of the village militia who were on duty that afternoon. Dressed in mail and armed with a long spear and heavy shield these men looked every inch a warrior. Finished off with a red cloak these men looked like ancestors of the Roman legions, that relentless military machine that had departed these many years before. Their departure brought forth the Saxon scourge on the island of the Britons. He turned to the elder of the two men guarding the gate. He was built like an ox yet began to sweat and fidget nervously under the steely gaze of the seasoned warrior. Without a word Madoc turned and marched out of the gate followed by his company. Looks could be deceiving and although the village militia may look like the legions of old he knew that if he failed this village would fall and with it the deaths of many would come to bare on his shoulders.
As Madoc lead the company down the road Morgan appeared beside him. He settled into pace alongside the company commander.
“So, do you have a plan?”Morgan tried to catch the gaze of the commander.
“The plan is to end these raids once and for all. I’ve had enough of finding burnt out villages and dead Britons because of these bastards”. Morgan could see the hatred and determination burning deep in Madocs eyes.
Morgan paused a few moments trying to choose the right words to unlock Madocs plan. He knew that if he pressed Madoc with the wrong line of enquiry he would get nothing out of the commander.
“Do you intend to annihilate their raiding column or are you going to send a few back across the Trent so they that the raiding routes they have carved out are now closed?”
Madoc slowly turned to Morgan and grinned without trying to hide his intentions he replied, “We will crush them completely. No man will return to tell their loved ones of their fate. We will cut them off just after the sunken pass and block the retreat back to the Redstone Bridge. It will be a massacre to celebrate”.
Both men smiled as the relished the battle that was about to come and marched in silence well into the night. They knew the roads and paths well and needed only a glimmer of moonlight to guide their way. It wasn’t until long after the sun had set that Madoc called and end to the march. With a loud whistle that carried the length of the column the men began to fall out and find shelter for what remained of the night.
“The Britons are dead and the bridge is clear. We will camp here and rest for the day men. We move at dawn and travel to riches and women”.
The men cheered at once and set about looting what was left of the militia defence that had been established on the Redstone Bridge. The roughly created palisade lay in a smouldering ruin at the head of the bridge and the bodies of the 12 militia men that were stationed at the small fort lay dead within its walls. Most of the items of any worth had already been taken as they fell in the skirmish that had taken place an hour before. Those that had not taken part in the fighting now rummaged through the remains of the battle taking anything that had not been spotted by the main attacking force yet the pickings were slim. The militia force stood little chance of even slowing the advancing Saxons. Armed with only a shield and a long spear, poorly trained with both, the heavily armoured Saxons forces marched straight through the waiting Britons once the palisade had been burnt down by the dozen archers on the rivers far bank.
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